Where to Wear White. Wear to Where White?

I’ll be honest, I messed up the h’s in the above title quite a few times. So I just went with it.

Wearing white and staying white is no small feat. Especially when you are out for dinner or drinks or anywhere besides a clean room. That is empty, with no dust. Which means, me taking my new dress on a hiking expedition, albeit a paved one, was probably not the best idea. But, while out-a-wandering, I realized that the only thing I could do in this is mingle at a party that served fruit-salad without strawberries. So that’s something.

White is allegedly one of the “colors of the season” which means I have to have it, but it must also mean that fashion people don’t make dinner plans and don’t have friends. See, that’s me above, acting like a fashion person. You know, wearing footwear to impractical destinations and wandering around. “Hey friends, where are you? Do I have friends? Mom?”

Dressing in doesn’t always get you in with the in crowd, I guess. But I promise it won’t leave you wandering around the woods along either. What I can tell you is that head-to-toe white looks amazing and new, and this is coming from a person who is already head-to-toe white.  It works anywhere but a wedding. Cocktails, dinner parties, BBQs whatever. I am totally into it. In fact, there is a new white Panama hat sitting at my feet and I am trying to devise a way to photoshop it into these photos.

I’m also planning in my head, that has the hat on it now, a brunch date for my boyfriend to take me on so that I can put this lil’ number on again. I’ll add the hat and pre-sun-soak and we’ll see if I don’t make some friends then!

Dress, Kimberly Ovitz. Shoes, BCBG Max Azria. Bag, See by Chloe.

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Tequila Shoes

So back to the basics, what I am drinking on a Wednesday night. I felt, however, that yesterday gave too much of a tip-off as to what was in my glass so I thought I would just move forward with it. If I said, Oh this bottle of wine is lovely etcetera etcetera you all would call me a liar because I told you yesterday I was drinking tequila with the BF. Of course, I could have wine before the tequila, but then again, its Wednesday.

So here I am, not lying, albeit not yet drinking tequila either (still plenty of time in the day for coffee). I’m reliving yesterday’s post a bit and daydreaming about how many articles of clothing I can fringe, while simultaneous recognizing that if its going to be a Margarita or a Mezcal evening, I better get me some sturdy shoes. Or these. I can rely on the boyfriend to wear flats.

Image Courtesy of jakandjil.com

I’ve learned more about tequila in the last few years. Some has been peer-pressured into my stomach by a friend of mine who can drink it like water and yet never seems to have any annunciation issues. Other times, it has come in a punch bowl. Once it even came in the form of my favorite drink, an Old Fashioned, at The Stanton Social in New York. More than once it has come in the way of Mezcal flights with tomato juice. Which I suppose isn’t technically tequila, but it’s awfully close.

I’ve also learned that tequila does not inevitably become a hurricane of a hangover, rather, if done correctly, it’s actually quite the cooperative spirit. I’m particularly partial to Corzo although the partiality is partially due to the fact that I find the bottle to be the most beautiful.

What is your favorite? Favorite Tequila creation? Favorite tequila memory that you can’t remember?

Romance and Rubber Heels

The only redeeming characteristic of the cold front that came in between two weeks of summer was that it gave me an excuse to put my favorite shoes of last season back on for one more last hurrah if you will.

Boots, Loeffler Randall. Jeans, Paige Premium Denim

 Yet in putting these back on, after a few weeks of flip-flops and wedge sneakers, I realized that my sprained ankle had not, in fact, healed. I, of course, realized this while putting my makeup on and listening to Call Me Maybe Boyfriend cool, hip music well before I left the house to go downtown to Eastern Standard for one last evening out before the rush of paper writing and outlining. I thought, just for a moment, I should protect my only right ankle I will ever have and put on flat boots. Then, a moment later, I realized I would have weeks of protecting my ankle and what would one more night out on the town with an ankle sprain really mean in the long run? After all, I’m 25 which I beginning to realize goes both ways in this argument.

Lace up Oxfords, Proenza Schouler.

On the one hand, I clearly still have incredibly limber ankles despite my increasing age. On the other hand, I already have arthritis in one of my toes after an unfortunate walking-right-into-the-wall accident a couple of years ago. Whatever my condition, it is clear that these things (stilettos or heels in general) almost surely involve some sort of pain or another, but for some reason, I can’t give them up. In fact, I love them. Love.

What is it about them that is so addicting? More so than any other real item of apparel that I own. I am always on the lookout for shoes, always. I am in awe of girls who do not enjoy.love.breathe shoes. Partly because I want to be them and partly because I wonder what is wrong with them. There is no good reason for this love affair that so many women all over the world suffer from. So what is it?! I’m pretty sure I spent every dollar I made last year on clothing, and 2/3 of that was on shoes. What is it?!?

How to Drink Cocktails and Look Good Doing It (Part II)

Ok, I know what you are thinking. I already wrote this. Which of course is true, I did. But I went out this weekend and I realized people aren’t listening to me. Are they crazy? Why would you not want to wear denim, leopard, army green, cargo pockets, red lace, glitter and leather at the same time? Duh! Do it!

So I went to a bar, let’s just say it was not a bar that demanded a high level of dress. Ok, let’s just say that bar is in Fenway and has “Tequila” and “Rain” in the title. Let’s also say that if you go to a bar with either or both of those words in the title and you happen to drink a two foot long frozen something or other with bourbon (not tequila?) your body might remind you for three days afterwards that you went to a bar with “Tequila” and/or “Rain” in the title. Ouch.

This way, I know its mine!

Before I go further, let me just say I am a huge advocate of anything short with heels. Its my favorite thing. I recognize that the time is coming when I won’t be able to get away with mini-skirts and stilettos and so I plan to rock it for as long as possible. Theoretically, because I am no longer an undergrad that time may have passed, but I can rest on the fact that I am still a student so its ok. Or just in denial, but either way, I’m going with it.

I also know that girls get dressed up for their girlfriends and girl strangers, not strange boys. In fact, in my opinion it’s the opposite–the hope is that stranger girls think you look good and strange boys leave you alone. For that reason, my forthcoming statements about hoo-has and ta-tas are limited to what I think, not what boys think with their pants. Or what’s in their pants. This is all getting very uncomfortably NSFW.

First of all, never show your hooha. I’m not sure whether or not to hyphenate that. I know that’s foundational but when I think people need advice, I never hesitate to word vomit all over them. It might seem like a worthwhile risk in the evening after a few cocktails. You may be thinking “I’m free. I’m independent. I don’t care what people think.”

But remind your intoxicated self, that sober self has to wake up the next morning to ask “How many people saw my underpants last night?”

See, no one in Beverly Hills would serve this lady… What a hussy Oh yeah, still got it.

Dress Rag & Bone (old), Shoes BCBG Max Azria, Bracelets, Tai and Kwiat

General rule of advice, if you are dancing around the idea of flashing strangers with your barely-there bottoms, first call me, second, cover up up-top. No need to show the whole world the whole bit of what your momma gave you.

Jacket Urban Outfitters, Chambray Shirt, J Crew

Second of all, my chest never really made it through puberty so my advice on covering up on top is both limited and biased, because I might as well be a 17-year old boy and I’m still jealous of the most popular girl in middle school. Nevertheless, the rule applies in opposite too! Show some boob, cover some legs or arms or both. As I am writing this, I am planning the photographs I am taking, and I just got very uncomfortable at the idea of actually following up on this, but that’s ok because there is still plenty of time in the day for wine.

I tried to take pictures of a low cut something or other but all it highlighted was my sternum, which is strangely deep, and my rib cage. So Pretend these are major league yabos (I just learned that)

Shorts, Winter Kate, Shoes, Luxury Rebel. Blue Books in the background, Journal with my published note, holler.

Then pretend this man shirt is a pair of baggy pants. Then dance to Miss New Booty.

Longest post ever, but its half about boobs, so Delta 0!?

On Branching Out and Staying In

One of the things I love about food and fashion is that they are always changing. There is always something new to wear, a new restaurant to try, a new gastro-technique that I can’t even begin to understand. Sure there is a cyclical nature to things (Paleo diet anyone? Maybe reaching back a bit far…) but as far as fashion goes, its rare to see a clone of something old, there is usually some modern twist on it. Ironically, this same phenomenon is the very same thing my wallet hates about food and fashion.

But even more than that, its hard to stay original while attempting to remain current. I have referenced these Isabel Marant sneakers that I am drooling over, but while waiting outside a restaurant in New York, I saw at least three people walk by in them.  I want to stay modern, but I don’t want to look like everyone else. So what to do, I am just a lowly law student in Boston. Who am I to say something is overdone?

Leggings are not pants. Uggs and shorts are seasonally incompatible. Women’s jeans are made for women. TOMS are not actually shoes (For emphasis…stop it). But see what do I know? 

For instance…trendy bag. The Cambridge Satchel in Neon Yellow, which to be fair I am still considering. It’s everywhere, its beautiful, I want it.

And the “it” bag of the season, the Celine Luggage Tote.

But who is to say that carpet bags are not the next big thing? I want to buy whatever is trendy and current that does not inspire strangers to come running up to me saying “Oh, hey I have that to!”

On the other hand, if this doesn’t catch on, I could get the strangers asking “Is your bag made of carpet?” I’m clearly afraid of bag-related-confrontations with strangers, and trust me it happens. Once a man stopped his car to yell at me about my gold-and-bamboo wedges. He found them that offensive. That he stopped his car to ask me what was on my feet. He was probably wearing Tevas.

What about the new-shoe-of-the-season to replace the hidden wedge sneakers of the fall? The Prada Rocket Shoe. Ok, I’m the first one to admit that these are hard to argue with. They go with everything. Seriously. When have you not wished your feet had rocket burners on the back?

Anyone who is anyone already has them. But these simple colorblocked heels might also do the trick, interesting and sophisticated, and I could probably outrun anyone wearing that little metal stiletto. Fake-Rocket Boosters only get you so far.

Or what about these caged teal pumps by Alexander Wang. This season is all outer-space so maybe I should go deep sea in these teal, fish scaley shoes.

Going opposite of a trend can be worthwhile in maintaining some independence, but then again some things are on point for a reason. Those of you considering bucking the raw-diet phenomenon should not light your food on fire before eating. That sounds funnier in my head.

My Winter Feet Are Depressed

While cleaning out my closet today, I took stock of my clothes and shoes. What I haven’t worn in awhile, what I want to wear now. Sure, I should be studying for my ethics exam, but man that video is boring. I’m more stressed out that I won’t finish my studded bedazzled jeans in time for brunch tomorrow in the South End.

I laid some of my favorite out for a little meet-and-greet. Like “Hey lazer cut mules, I forgot you were in there!” “I know because I’ve been in my dustbag for like foooorreeevver.”Image

While I was refolding sweaters over this little shoe party, I realized how long it has been since I have worn some of these, and how much I was dying to have them. Sometimes, I am able to convince myself that my whole life is better, that my closet is finally current, if I could just add in that one pair of blue-zebra and mesh sandals (find them here). And while I have big plans for them with my new Hawaiian print dress, the fact that it is about to snow again in Boston means another week or month of workout clothes and boots. Probably at the same time.

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All of this glitter and animal print brings me back to my qualms about lawyer-ing. Is there an office that finds glitter oxfords daytime-appropriate? Are there many lawyers who do not find 6’3″ me-in-heels not intimidating? Again with the double negatives, goodness gracious. Why does auditing my own shoe collection stir up my identity crisis? Who am I anyway? What is happening? I should probably go bedazzle…I promise I am almost done with all the bedazzle talk. Almost.

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